


Democratic Blood

by October_And_April



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Historical Accuracy, M/M, Russian Revolution, World War I, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/October_And_April/pseuds/October_And_April
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Russia delves into an important part of history easily forgotten and overlooked. Most don't know, he secretly admires America, and undergoes a revolution for his sake. All he wanted was to be a good nation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Democratic Blood

 

In the year 1917, Russian Tsar Nicholas II was in supreme control of the Russian army. Thus, it was no surprise when the series of military failures were blamed on him, and he lost support from the government. During the time of World War I, the Russian army was completely inept, severely lacking the supplies necessary to be a part of the war hardly at all.

We needed American troops.

A new leader was coming, and the government wanted Nicholas II to step down. When he refused, he and his family were assassinated for the good of the country.  

This was my revolution. One of many acts that took place during this series of many small revolutions at this time.

And he doesn't know it, but it's all for _him_.

I'm looking around the meeting room right now. It's Britain, France and I. The  _Triple Entente_. Britain is expressing his fear for America, and is desperate for him to join our side. America sends his letters saying,  _"It's important for me to stay neutral to ensure the peace of my country..."_

The liar. He's been ignoring Germany's war zone borders around Britain that declare they'll sink any ship, no matter how innocent, that nears it, while obeying Britain's war zone around Germany and stopping all trade. Supplying the enemy. That's what Germany said, when his submarines sunk that cruiser killing twelve-hundred Americans. Now, America was teetering on the edge of war; nothing, absolutely nothing, pissed him off like killing any of his own people. He was a little more passionate that way.

While he unintentionally sided with us by supplying Britain when he wasn't supposed to, he was still at a stalemate decision. While America had always been keen to take the "isolationist" path, Japan could tell you that there's no way to get away with that forever, no matter how stubborn you are. Especially with a nation as popular as America, he was bound to be dragged into European affairs eventually. Still, he tried to ward off the inevitable. To protect his people. But now that twelve hundred had died, what would he do? There was almost no doubt he would be convinced to join us.

But there was one obstacle stopping him.

America's rallying call for even considering going into war, was his determination to spread democracy for a future of progressive nations. I, however, did not fit into that category. 

Most say I dislike and even hate America, and quite frankly I am puzzled as to why. Since the small nation was born -- well, he was small back then -- I've admired him. Even as a colony, his spirit was bright and warm. Even before he reached for independence, he wanted to be different from other nations like us. He was more humane than we had been known to be in the past. He strove for freedoms we never did, and continues still today to rapidly grant more and more freedoms than any of us. 

I admire him. 

And we need him. Britain is spending millions of dollars a week in this war, and France and I aren't faring so well either. If change doesn't happen soon, this war may turn out badly. 

But America's obstacle is that his point to enter war is for democracy. By joining either side, the Triple Alliance or the  _Triple Entente_ , he would be siding with a monarchy. This spelled disaster if we wanted him to actively participate. Sneaking weaponry past German submarines wouldn't win the war.  

Change _had_  to happen. And, since I'd always wanted to be like him...I decided to change. 

 

* * *

 

It's been weeks since it happened. In 1917, Tsar Nicholas II and his remaining family were killed in the name of Russia. In my name. I knew it had to happen...but I honestly never expected for them to kill his whole family. Especially the children...I haven't slept in days. 

The  _orbicularis oculi_  of my eyelids are weak and drooping. The  _corrugator supercilii_  of my brows makes me look like I'm in a constant frown. 

"Russia," says France tentatively, and he's staring at me. They've stopped talking about America for once. "You don't look so well, mon cher." 

My  _orbicularis oris_  purses my lips. 

"Of course he doesn't," Britain mutters grimly. His  _corrugator supercilii_  mimics mine; he isn't so well either. They both have newspapers sitting at the end of the desk, and I know one of them is about my revolution. They know everything.

I wonder if _he_  knows. 

Does he have any idea what I've gone through for him? _I'm doing it for the war,_  I tell myself. But I know, I've always known I secretly yearn for his approval. I'm pathetic really, but dwelling on it does no good. I want to be good. I want to be a nation who brings happiness and opportunity. I never knew how to pursue doing so until America came along and did so...naturally. He was naturally good. He was a pure wild beast.

I'm a breeding animal in captivity.  _Democracy_  is a learned behavior for me. I didn't have that _instinct._  

"Russia..." It's France again. He must really be concerned. 

I roll my eyes languidly up to look at him. I've frayed the end of my scarf badly, and French blue eyes flicker down to my hands. My gloves are gone. My fingertips are a raw pink and so I drop my scarf. 

Shrimp fingers, is what America would probably call them. And in a way they're indirectly responsible for the family's death. 

" _Da_..." The word is choked out and I swallow. I pull out a small flask to wash down the dry lining of my throat with vodka. It only burns a little. France is reaching out to touch my face. I smack his hand away. It's the vodka. It's the burn that's causing it.

"It's the vodka."

"Of course." I look up because it's Britain who's talked. He nods and keeps nodding and fingers through the newspaper. I know he understands because for him, it's the everclear.  

"It's the everclear, sometimes," he says and his voice is throaty but the vodka is blurring my vision. "It's never the wine, France. You wouldn't understand." It's a hurtful thing to say. 

France goes quiet. "Sometimes it's the wine.."

 

* * *

 

I read a speech from America's president during this time that caught my attention since it expressed the need to join us in this war. Surprisingly, he addressed me.

 

_"Does not every American feel that assurance has been added to our hope for the future peace of the world by the wonderful and heartening things that have been happening with the last few weeks in Russia? Russia was known by those who knew it best to have been always in fact democratic at heart, in all the vital habits of his thought, in all the intimate relationships of his people that spoke their natural instinct, their habitual attitude toward life. The autocracy that crowned the summit of his political structure, long as it had stood and terrible as was the reality of its power, was not in fact Russian in origin, character, or purpose; and now it has been shaven off and the great generous Russian people have been added in all their naive majesty and might to the forces that are fighting for freedom in the world, for justice, and for peace. Here is a fit partner for a League of Honor."_

 

I wash my throat with vodka again and it's causing little wet dots to appear on the grey page of the newspaper.  

"The wonderful and heartening things going on in Russia..." I laugh hollowly. The vodka blurs my vision again. "What a generous thing to say." I couldn't be mad at America though. For all he knows, we merely overthrew the tsar. We didn't mow down their entire family. We didn't stand by to shoot down innocent little girls.  

But my cynicism flees me because despite what's happened, this recognition of me has made me immensely happy. America, does he believe I've always been democratic at heart? That all the awful and totalitarian things that have happened were not of my origin? Does he find my people as wonderful as he says? I'd like to think all these things. I want to be democratic at heart. I want my people to fight for freedom and justice and peace.  

"Here is a fit partner for a League of Honor." My heart flutters as I say it out loud. This League of Honor, this must be the  _Triple Entente_. Am I truly a fit partner for America? Will he find me good enough to stand by his side in battle? Will he rejoice with me when we win, assuming he will indeed participate? 

My cool chest warms at the thought. I didn't want my dramatic change to be in vain, for their blood to mean nothing. If America's boss is so graciously commending me, surely America must be happy. If he doesn't know all the details, fine. It's fine with me. I just want his approval.

I want to win this war. 

I want to be democratic. I hate being the inept monster I've been made out to be. I want his recognition. 

It means nothing from another country. It has to be  _him_. Only when the world's leading superpower of freedom and justice recognizes and commends me, will it be worth it. Only then will I be happy, will I be able to sleep at night for what's happened. 

Let their blood pave a way for victory in this war to end all wars.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Britain and France call for another meeting. It's too soon, but maybe they have a strategy, and so I'm willing to make the unexpected trip to Britain. 

France is already there when I arrive. He's happier than he's been since this war has started; I feel a bit bad for him, Germany has taken most of his anger out on his land and he's suffering the worst out of any of us right now. The devastation to his land has taken a toll on his body. His skin is looking sallow and he's less volatile than normal. He isn't prancing about with roses or worming his way into Britain's lap. In fact, he's hardly wearing color. He has his hair up today in a pretty blue ribbon he knows shows off his eyes.   

He's matching today. I wonder what the good news is.

Britain is even tolerating the fingers combing his punkish hair; he's smiling for the first time in months,  so it has to be good.

" _Russie_ ," France coos, sauntering over to me with open arms. "It doesn't have to be the vodka anymore!" 

I blink and my hand stops fingering the cold flask in my coat. "Why is that?"  

France smiles and turns his eyes to Britain. Tears are in his French blue eyes. He looks kind of pretty when he cries. "It doesn't have to be the everclear anymore, either."

Britain stands from his cushioned seat and he's smiling wider now. "The prat is in." 

I don't fully understand until I hear a knock on the double doors of the meeting room. Before Britain can tell the new guest to 'enter,' they're bursting open. 

It's not the vodka this time that blurs my vision, and I quickly blink as to not maim the image of America swooping in to our rescue. His arms are open and his grin is blinding. His sunshine hair matches the wide blue skies of his eyes.  

"Amerika?" America steps past the other two who are so relieved they're jelly where they stand, and he pulls me into his chest. 

The move is a little awkward because his head rests a few inches below mine but he takes the dominant position of the embrace, his dignified chin in my shoulder. His warmth is melting my snowy skin through our clothes.  

"I'm here now," he says, and it's a little raspy because he's speaking lowly. The others keen forward to catch what he's saying. America's so strong, he's crushing my chest into his. I unintentionally nose the cowlick atop his head and I have no choice but to inhale his scent, and he smells like the great outdoors with no specific scent except the distinct smell of _sunflowers_. Maybe I'm imagining it. "I'm proud of you, big guy," he says again, and he pulls back, hands clasping my shoulders and he himself looks equally relieved as we do.

_Does he have any idea?_  I can't tell if the happy smile is empathetic or simply proud, and the longer I stare at it the more the two possibilities blend. 

I smile, relieved, and I'm blinking rapidly. " _Спасибо, Америка_." 

He claps my back, perhaps harder than intended as he often does with his strength gone unchecked, and Britain and France rejoice in his presence. France throws his arms around his neck and kisses his face. Britain reaches to shake his hand before America's pulling him into a crushing hug instead. I have to stifle a small giggle because Britain's face is crushed into America's proud chest, speaking into the dip of his collarbone. 

"You're a right wanker," he says with a smile. I know he's also partly happy because America is going to pull us out of the danger of bankruptcy for all three of us. 

France is tearing up again and he's happily shouting, "It isn't the wine, it isn't the wine!" 

America grins, showing his teeth, and his eyes look a little moist near the corners. "It won't have to be, anymore, so long as I can help it. I'm the hero, after all."

"Fucker," Britain whispers, but he's laughing. 

France throws himself into America's arms again crying, " _Je'taime, mon cher!"_

I turn around to gather the newspapers in a neat stack, and I whisper to myself.

" _Боже благослови Америку_."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Translations: 
> 
> Russie: Russia
> 
> Mon cher: My dear
> 
> Je'taime: I love you
> 
> Спасибо, Америка: Thank you, America
> 
> Боже благослови Америку: God bless America
> 
> \-----
> 
> I've noticed, in every single RusAme/AmeRus fiction I've ever read, they're always portrayed to have a love-hate relationship, usually centering around the Cold War. I've always had reason to doubt this portrayal and I was right to upon hearing about one of two things: 
> 
> Woodrow Wilson's paragraph about Russia in his speech about why America should enter the first world war, and the fact that Russia became a democracy FOR America. The revolution happened during the war because America could not side with either the Triple Alliance or the Triple Entente so long as they both had a monarchy on their side. This was the main thing keeping them from entering the war, because after German submarines attacked and sunk a cruiser killing twelve-hundred Americans, much of America was ready to fight. 
> 
> In response to this, Russia essentially began a change in order to have America on the side of the Triple Alliance. But in order for a new leader to step in, Nicholas II had to step down. He lost all government support because he lead the Russian army into many failures, resulting them in being rendered nearly useless in the first world war. When he refused, he and his family were assassinated. 
> 
> Ergo, Russia underwent an entire revolution and the famous Russian tsar family was killed...all for America. And America's president (his "boss") commended and even praised Russia afterwards, saying Russia had always been "democratic at heart" and that the rule of the tsar was "not of Russian origin" and that "the might of the Russian people should fight for freedom, justice, and peace" and, most importantly, how Russia was a "fit partner" for America. 
> 
> America and Russia have been on good terms for a very long time; the Cold War was two decades of tension, but not a definition of their entire relationship. There really isn't much of "hate" in their relationship, but I suppose that determines on how one decides to interpret the Cold War. Regardless, we hope this sheds some light into your outlook on the Russia/America relationship and that you learned something new.
> 
> \----
> 
> References: The president's speech, Woodrow Wilson's "Why America Should Enter World War I" to US Congress in 1917.
> 
> The Russian Revolution, 1917.
> 
> Orbicularis oculi: facial muscle that blinks the eyelids.
> 
> Corrugator supercilii: facial muscle that moves the brows and part of the forehead. It's the "frowning" muscle.
> 
> Orbicularis oris: circular muscle around the mouth that moves the lips.
> 
> \----
> 
> This is our first published story, so please leave a review if this interested or enlightened you. :)


End file.
